


my body is a museum (your kisses are works of art)

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [28]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving On, Pining, of sorts, soft angst, this is the only time i pay attention to canon, two characters learning to heal and allowing themselves to live basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: In the middle of the fields there are no artificial lights.  The beam of Lance’s soft blue marks is all the more magical, like two lost stars that decided to dance on the land, among mortals such as them.





	my body is a museum (your kisses are works of art)

**Author's Note:**

> idk why this happened but it happened and now it's here!!!!!
> 
> this story is actually soft even though it's sad. perhaps melancholic is a better term?

**my body is a museum (your kisses are works of art** )

 

 When he wakes, the soreness in his muscles arises too.  He stretches, sitting on the edge of the bed, sheets and blankets dragging with his motions, as if breathing softly, and uncover him.  The slumbering man resting on the other side of the bed doesn’t part from his sleeping state, barely uttering nonsensical sounds that bring sweetness to the early hours of the morning.

 Standing up slowly, he runs a hand through his half-undone braid and lets it fall apart, white tresses cascading softly down his shoulders.  There’s an ache lodged deep in his back and a numbness in his knees — the bed is far too small to properly accommodate both of them, or, well, to properly accommodate someone his size alone.  That hadn’t mattered, last night. Looking back, it seems that there  _ had _ been too many things that mattered too much to stop and consider every single implication of the events that proceeded to unfold.

 He walks slowly to where he knows the shower is.  He’s unsure of the etiquette to follow now, whereas before everything had been unnervingly clear; perhaps acting just like he normally would is the best course of action.   _ Perhaps _ .  Uncertainty weighs heavy on his ankles, making him feel like his footsteps are louder than ever.  He does need a shower, though, his fur is sticking up in odd places while it’s also matted and sticky in others… it’s not a pleasant feeling at all.

 A stray thought strikes him just as he’s stepping into the shower, the spray of warm water definitely not enough to get him wet quickly but still sufficient for him to get properly clean.  Rubbing his hands over his head and the back of his ears, he thinks of waiting by the other’s side, of offering his help, of giving the needed consolation they both are seeking. He thinks about knowing there’s a likeness it won’t be accepted, it won’t be well seen in the eyes of someone who is doing his very best to deny every semblance of feelings that threaten to hit stop on his show of being  _ ‘fine’ _ .

 He thinks of glowing marks under the pads of his fingertips.  He thinks of how, more often than not, everything seems to indicate that existence only wishes to laugh at them.

 Finally, he thinks of remorse.  A well-known thought.

 Stepping out of the shower, his steps are troubled as he makes the short way back to the bedroom.  There, he notices that the other is still sleeping soundly, even if now the sheets and blankets form a loose cocoon around the slim figure.  The hint of a smile is forming on his lips, erasing his usual frown, when the blinking light of his communicator catches his attention — the smile disappears without trace, a sensation he can’t pinpoint lodges itself in his guts.  He knows what the message will say, he knows without reading it that he will have to leave without further words being exchanged.

 He picks up his clothes, puts them on with efficient movements, and grabs his communicator.  Krolia’s familiar face greets him in the recorded message:

_ Target location found.  There are coordinates at the end of the message. We—  _

 Casting a forlorn glance towards the bed, he silently walks out of the room.  He does remember to leave an explanatory note before leaving; hopefully, it will be enough for now.

 

—

 

 His mind keeps wandering the by now well-worn path of that faithful evening’s events.  It’s like a lingering sting of a  _ yowling walker _ , but less irritating (thankfully).  If he had to explain in symptoms this way he’s feeling, he would be forced to say that seeing that youthful human face look that detached ( _ haunted _ ; haunted and resigned, yet light perseveres in the eyes, light of embers that scream strength, a state of not quite giving up, of refusing to believe this is how things are meant to be), seeing that face that once was so bright and open being now so detached, for a moment he saw a sliver of himself in it, of crucial moments in his life marred with loss and…

 Truth is, and this truth is admitted only in the privacy of his mind: truth is, tragedy made him strong because for too long he never had anyone to lay on, he never had the chance or the redeeming quality of receiving help.  He is strong so that he shan’t need to be in such position (but then again, strong as he is he did fail, once, a failure so big and monumental that everything he worked hard to build came crashing down, leaving a scar deeper than any physical one could aim to be).  

 He is strong because before he could’ve never afford to be otherwise.  But what is his strength of use if he can’t apply it to guide others who are going through the motions that once made him stumble?  What is it of use if it cannot help?

 And maybe what transpired that night hadn’t been the best of ways to offer support, but at that moment that semblance of loneliness had hit him right through his core and he just knew he  _ had _ to do something about it.  So he did and — it was a moment, a moment in which their eyes met; it was just a moment in which they killed loneliness together, they killed each other’s loneliness in the expanse of a shared breath and then… and then…

 “Kolivan,” Krolia telegraphs her movements so that he can easily follow the trajectory of her hand towards his shoulder, “Kolivan, are you al—”

 “I apologize for my distraction,” he cuts that question swiftly, answering it with the action.  Krolia merely looks at him, always understanding more than she should, “The object was found. Let’s return to base now, Keith is waiting for us.”

 But she isn’t quite willing to let go.  “We know each other, Kolivan,” she says, unwavering.  He keeps his mouth shut this time. “It’s alright. War is mostly over.”

 What goes unsaid but both know is: it’s the ripples of war their main worry.  It’s the old wounds splitting through entire worlds and civilizations. It’s the endless waves of hatred.

 So they go back to their new base where Keith is waiting, new apprehensions on their backs — Keith is hopeful and full of energy, thus they don’t share these worries with him: it’s too uncertain how he would react.  Besides, who are they to add more burden to him? As a new leader learning the ropes, Keith is juggling two abysmally heavy fronts, the official one of the Blade of Marmora and the one that’s now a secret for any outsider.  (To move on and grow is to know how to adapt.)

 But  _ he _ is everywhere Kolivan looks, and Kolivan begins to realize that this could so easily turn into yet another unshakeable ghost.   _ He _ is everywhere Kolivan looks: both the him of times past and the him of the present, both vibrant and dull, effervescent and contained, naive and resigned.   _ He _ is in blooming and withering flowers, in flowing and stagnant water, in stars and falling comets.

 It’s distracting.  He needs to do something about this new fixation.  He needs to find a way, needs to— 

 With a sigh, he takes his leave, a single destination in mind.  Hoping upon hope he’ll be welcomed once more.

 

—

 

 Lance doesn’t look a single day older when Kolivan comes back five months later.  Lance doesn’t look older, but he also doesn’t look like he’s healed at all. It makes something inside Kolivan’s bones ache, a longing so soulful he cannot quite explain.

 “Got your note,” Lance says with a smile, “quite sentimental of you! It surprised me.  I wouldn’t get angry because you had to leave, I know I’m the only one around here with lots of free time and all.”

 Kolivan still feels shame.  “It was rude of me, leaving without saying goodbye…”

 But Lance laughs like clear days and how freshly bandaged wounds feel after they’ve been cleaned.  Laughs, but it’s still with a threat of infection — a sign of need for carefulness and patience. All things Kolivan doesn’t think Lance has.

 Lance laughs and Kolivan does the only thing that can be expected of him: he treasures the sound, the vibration of vocal chords; he treasures it and holds it in the palms of his hands as he reaches out to touch soft cheeks.  The shine of Lance’s eyes is almost drowned by the gleam of the marks given to him.

 And Kolivan does the only thing worth doing: he kisses Lance like he’s been dying to since the moment they were apart.

 He tastes the breathless gasp meeting his mouth, feels the reassuring heat of a steady blood flow making the delicate skin under his hands feel comfortably warm.  He tastes the ends of Lance’s laughter, the longing, the loneliness neither of them know how to shake away. There’s a hint of spoilt sweetness making Kolivan think of lost illusions and hopes.  There’s the security of Lance’s own hands reaching out to stroke Kolivan’s jawline, his neck, his shoulders, security that makes him feel more firm than he ever did during all these months of separation.

_ This is unthinkable _ , Kolivan reprimands himself even as he’s pulled into another kiss, and another, and another— _ I care for him so much, in ways I thought were lost to me. _

_ This is unthinkable _ , he repeats as Lance giggles against his lips, into his mouth, hands tugging on his braid,  _ because I am not what he needs. _ _ I can’t (won’t) replace what he’s lost. _

 But Lance’s marks (a parting gift, a  _ forget me not for I’ll always remember you _ ) are shining under the pads of his thumbs as they pull away, making Kolivan’s apprehensions drift in the wind that takes them away to destinations unknown, nothing but mere specks of dust that get lost in the distance.  There’s the softest blue glow Kolivan’s ever seen, something that teases the senses, and he’s sure he’ll cherish this image forever, he’ll keep it safe with mind, body and soul.

 “It’s getting late,” Lance says then, still not moving away.  It’s like they’ve been pulled together by the force that joins magnets, they keep calling out to each other, they keep reaching out.

_ Unbelievable _ , Kolivan muses while he keeps stroking Lance’s cheeks.   _ Yet so true. _

 “Come on,” Lance smiles, twists his head to press his lips to Kolivan’s palm, “let’s go inside.  My ma’s cooking dinner tonight, it’s gonna be awesome.”

 “If that is truly alright,” he hums, drinking up the way Lance’s eyes dance with mirth, “then, yes.”

 “Good,” and he gives a step back, a minimal degree of separation, before his hand is already closing around Kolivan’s, chasing away all insecurities, “plus I bet they’ve been watching us kiss so you can’t really backtrack now.”

 A fluttering curtain by the main window proves Lance’s words true.  Something about the warmth of the human hand on his large one puts him at ease, and he can only smile as he’s gently pulled into the welcoming house.

 He’s been here before, yet everything seems so different from the previous time.  Then they had been alone, truly, and there had been so many shadows clinging to every corner, so many empty spaces that threatened to take over… now, now there’s the undeniable air that comes with  _ vitality  _ and  _ warmth _ , a kind current that makes Kolivan feel in ways he hasn’t felt for a lifetime.  Whereas before everything seemed well-worn but nothing special, now things shine under a new light, shine with memories of a place that’s in constant touch with  _ life _ .

 Kolivan immediately realizes a truth that he doesn’t know Lance might be aware of in the same way someone lost in a forest cannot truly see the trees: this numerous family, this group of kind and open-minded people, they are Lance’s support system—a support system that’s working its way in, gently yet steadily cracking the surprisingly hard walls Lance built around himself when no one was looking, too distracted by the everything that was changing.  He no longer asks himself what was his team thinking, letting a clearly important person turn so jaded, changing to the point of almost-reversion; changing to the point he kept losing himself among the silent stars. Kolivan knows the answers, he’s known them for a while, perhaps since the first moment their paths were crucially crossed to then become parallel roads. 

 Inexperience always comes with a cost.  Naivety drags after its dancing steps more harm than good.

 He’s trying his best to keep a leash on his worries, to control the mighty beast that is his sadness, and it’s his always present self-control what helps him reign in his impulse of stopping Lance from leaving his side.  And even if he wants to seek him out, the two human children keep doing everything in their power to gain his attention since the moment he walked in. He’s not surprised they aren’t scared of him, he’s not surprised that they keep excitedly demanding to be picked up in his arms… and he does so, numerous of times, mainly because Lance always seems to catch his eyes, mainly because every time their eyes meet Lance seems happy.  Like he’s found one of the meanings that hide behind the construct that is the word  _ home _ .

 Everyone is so accepting that Kolivan almost feels out of place.  He can read it in the lines decorating the face of Lance’s mother, he sees it in the way they seem to dissolve, how thankful they all are that Lance seems to be moving on.  Kolivan does not have the heart to tell them that Lance is far from being in a truthful pursuit of happiness, so he nods and smiles when he’s spoken to, playing along. After all, he’s in no position to judge: look how long it’s taken him to allow himself to live.

  
  


 Their stomachs are full and the kids are being ushered to their beds by the time Veronica gives in and pulls Kolivan aside, something he’s been silently waiting for all evening.  She’s the only one besides Lance here who knows him, or, well, knows  _ of _ him.  She’s also the only one who openly dares to bring forth her own worries that are mirror of the ones casting a shadow over the entire family.

 “I don’t think you’re the type—,” she says, eyebrows scrunching up together in a frown as she pushes up her glasses that had been slowly sliding down the bridge of her nose, “but, well, I also didn’t think you were the type to even…”

 “Be in a relationship?,” Kolivan ventures, matching the hushed tone of her voice.  They are in the hallway that leads to the dining room, where everyone else is still gathered.  He’s still learning about humans (there’s so much he has to know) but this is something that no one could get wrong.

 She grows still at his words, shoulders tense and set in a harsh line.  “Is that what this truly is?”

 He ignores the way his heart gives a painful turn.  “Wishful thinking, perhaps. But as far as I’m aware—no.”

 “But you want to,” Veronica’s still frowning, the corner of her lips twitching once.  “Did you tell him?”

 “I believe that if I were to,” he’s fighting the urge to cross his arms, instead closing one of his hands into a fist, running the pad of his thumb over his knuckles, “he would most likely run away.”

 “Well,” Veronica’s eyes glance to the side, towards the moving shadows of the others in the adjacent room, “You are certainly right about that.”  Something inside her wavers, just then, out of reach, before she looks at Kolivan again. “Listen, I’m—I’m sorry for doubting you. I know it's baseless, but we've all been so worried over him for so long and just. You, being here, is somehow a blessing and a curse at the same time, you know?”

 He wishes he could say no, but he can't.  He understands her more than well, and it does nothing to calm the yearning in his heart. 

 

 It’s later in the night when Lance lands by Kolivan’s side again like a hummingbird that can only move forward, following paths that never give him a chance to stop and consider… which is exactly what Lance wants.  Without a chance for reflection, the crushing weight of a broken heart can be easily denied and cut at the bud. It doesn’t necessarily mean that it will stop existing (because it will always be a lingering thing, because the roots are still there), it just means.  It just means that he’s terrified of admitting it. So things are better hidden away. He’s always careful so it won’t turn bitter in his bloodstream, so it won’t turn acidic on his tongue.

 Lance is lurking darkness hiding in the blindness casted by the light in plain sight.  Kolivan cannot be easily fooled, because he  _ knows _ , because he’s known so many that lived life exactly the same.

 “Hey, do you want to go for a walk maybe? It’s a super nice night, plus we’ll get some fresh air!”  He asks as if he truly doesn’t realize that he does not need to, because Kolivan will willingly follow him even if it’s down the path to hell.

 It’s crazy, honestly, that he feels in such a strong way.  That he’s willing to admit that in such a short time (when confronted to the time of the rest of his long life) someone was able to knit themselves so tightly into Kolivan’s mind and heart that Kolivan truly did not have other choice but to fall, fast, unforgiving, head over heels.  Perhaps it’s because he’s never allowed himself this luxury before, perhaps it’s because after so long of keeping himself away from any and every semblance of affection now he’s weak to it, now he’s defenseless — but that’s not quite  _ it _ , either, no, because it’s not like he didn’t feel affection  _ before _ , it’s not like he didn’t care and love and cherish his… his  _ self-made, imperfect yet larger than life family _ .  He’s still bleeding from that wound.  He doesn’t think it will ever heal completely.

 Lance is looking at him in ways that make Kolivan’s very essence shiver. Perhaps it’s a good thing that Lance doesn’t realize how far everyone around him is willing to go to keep him happy.  Perhaps... not really, no, because he’s much too good himself and even if he were to realize he still wouldn’t let that corrupt him. Those marks under his eyes are proof of how deeply he loves. 

 Still Kolivan refuses to let himself fall into endless contemplation and instead seizes the chance of enjoying the comfortable quietness of being alone together.  “Of course,” he says, giving a gentle nod of his head, “wherever you want to go.”

 “Cool,” Lance grins brighter than the stars Kolivan’s grown under and holds his hand with the certainty of someone who has nothing to lose, “come on, let’s get out of here now before Vero scares you away with another chat!  What did she even tell you? Like, yeah, I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for you to admit it but she  _ can _ be pretty scary when she wants to and—”

 “Lance.”

 “Yeah?”

 “It’s alright.”

 A hand-squeeze.  The door opening before them and closing behind them.  The early evening breeze. The silence of the universe that wants what’s best for them.

 “Yeah.  Yeah, it is, isn’t it?,” wet laughter, slightly hysterical, “It’s alright… It’s alright.”

 

 They walk for a while, hand in hand, neither saying a word.  The world around them is quiet and tranquil, existence resting instead of constantly pushing towards explosions and pain and war.  And war—war is far from truly over, perhaps it will never be over, not completely, not when there will always be things to fix, things to fight over,  _ to fight for _ , to protect and retrieve and shaky relations to maintain.  The solace is that these new aspects of war aren’t quite the bloody kind, these new times call for diplomatic confrontations, for knives in the form of calculated words and measured meetings between every being who happens to be someone this side of the galaxy or the other.  It’s so much better than before, though, because now the soldiers’ feet get to rest, because they can let their lives come out of the obligatory pause they enter once they are asked to fulfill their duty.

 It’s so much better than before because Kolivan knows for sure that before he would’ve never allowed himself to look at Lance twice, to get this close, to cherish him like he does.   _ I want to hold you and never let go _ , he thinks, studying the human’s profile,  _ I want to love you so _ .

 “Do you like the flowers?,” Lance breaks the quiet with a gentle voice when they walk right through the middle of the many busy fields, still looking ahead and never at him, “I mean, yeah, you can’t really see them all that well now, but the last time you didn’t, uhm.  We didn’t…”

 “They are lovely,” he squeezes the smaller hand once, offering reassurance, “My vision isn’t as affected as yours by darkness.”

 “Oh, wow. Really? I mean. That actually kind of makes sense, you do have kind of cat eyes. And you have the ears already, so—”

 “Are you implying I’m like one of your small felines? The kind humanity trained for generations so they could be domestic?”

 “Oh yeah man,” Lance’s laughter is carefree, loud and true, “definitely! Though it’s not much implying as it it  _ flat out saying it is so _ , but well, semantics, am I right?”

 “I should be offended,” sighing once, Kolivan lets himself smile, too, “but I suppose there  _ is _ some truth in there being certain… similarities.”

 “Oh stars.  Wait, say that again but let me record it, so that the others will believe me—,” he lets go of Kolivan’s hand to look for his phone, patting all of his pockets.

 “Not a chance. You will have to live knowing the truth yet no one believing it ever happened.” 

 “Aw come on!,” Lance lets out a high-pitched whine, wrapping one of his hands around Kolivan’s elbow, “ _ Please _ , please, yes?”

 Kolivan pretends to consider it, playing along.  He turns to the side so he’s fully facing Lance and he’s already lowering his head a little as he speaks: “I don’t know.  Perhaps I can be convinced with enough kisses.”

 And Lance laughs and stands on the tip of his toes, arms raising to fit perfectly over Kolivan’s shoulders, lips mere centimeters apart, “I’ll give you all the kisses you want.  All of them, and  _ then _ some.”

 In the middle of the fields there are no artificial lights.  The beam of Lance’s soft blue marks is all the more magical, like two lost stars that decided to dance on the land, among mortals such as them.

 

—

 

 No one is up waiting for them when they eventually go back, high on kisses and wandering hands that betray just how much they want.  Lance guides them to his room, the same room as last time, barely pulling away every now and then to make sure they don’t run into any walls or furniture; they can’t break their kisses for long enough, they can’t separate themselves far enough to quickly make their way to the bed without stumbling.  Kolivan is drunk on Lance’s giggles that spread against his lips and leave a warm sensation that tingles all the way down to his gut.

 Air rushes out of him the moment he falls backwards onto the small bed.  He lifts himself on his elbows, watching with unending fondness as Lance quickly closes and locks the door — the material is thin, though, so tonight it will be a test on their self control, to see how much they can hold their voices in, control the sounds they make.  It’s going to be quite the test, too, since he remembers Lance being loud, and he remembers the way he had responded in kind. The warm memory brings embers to his core, heating him up slowly yet surely. With anyone else the risk of getting burnt would be almost nonexistent, but with Lance?  With Lance he is going to  _ burn _ until his past self is ashes and he’s born anew.

 The intensity of their brief moments could easily scare a weaker man.  The intensity could easily have him feeling apprehension, yet all it does is leave him with a craving so soul-deep that he can never shake it off.

 Lance turns and presses his back against the door.  There’s dim light filtering through the parted curtains by the window, enveloping everything its fingers reach with a soft glow.  Lance is ethereal, is magical, with his own glow framing his beautiful eyes, making his eyelashes seem even longer, making his eyes seem more haunted.  Such a beauty that cannot be consumed, that cannot go away, that will stick to your bones and never let you go, never, not even decades from now.

 Kolivan watches him as he bites his lower lip, fidgeting in his place, hands behind his back and fingers tapping a nonsensical rhythm against the thin wood.  Kolivan watches him like a starved man, like Lance holds what will cease this hunger that’s been consuming him since the first time their lives crossed.

 “Hey,” Lance breathes out, meek and shy, bottom lip caught by his teeth.

 “Hey,” Kolivan repeats and, for some reason, it makes Lance laugh.

 It must be a good reason, Kolivan thinks, and soon he stops thinking altogether because Lance is moving closer to sit on his lap, straddling his hips, hands making their nest on Kolivan’s chest.  It must be an excellent reason, because Lance is then kissing him like he didn’t kiss him while they were outside, underneath an expanding sky, underneath stars and their constellations ready to guide their wayward steps back to the safety of each other’s arms.

 The more they kiss the brighter Lance’s marks glow.  Kolivan lets out a soft groan, resting his hands on Lance’s thighs, and he pulls their mouths apart so he can nibble along his jawline, down the side of his neck — he’s careful not to leave marks, even though he’s dying to.  Unless Lance tells him it’s alright, he won’t do it. In everything he wants to give, he wishes for the certainty that it’s wanted in return. And Lance is shivering on top of him, breathing agitated and soft delicious sounds leaving his kiss-swollen lips; he’s shivering, sitting upright and throwing his head to the side so Kolivan has more skin to shower with affection.

 He sits up too, one arm moving to keep Lance in place, securing around that small waist, fingers stroking the protruding hip bone.  His other hand moves to the hem of Lance’s shirt, lifting it up, exposing the slim yet defined muscles on his stomach and chest. Lance gets rid of it completely in the span of one breath and another, cheeks red, eyes wide, and Kolivan doesn’t wait to kiss his collarbones, the expanse of skin over the fast beating heart, to show his appreciation.  His  _ adoration _ .  And stars above, his hunger is resurfacing, augmented, uncontrolled, and his thoughts sing in one singular voice what resonates within him the most:  _ I love you so, I’ll eat you up. _

 Lance must feel it, must notice it in the heat of his kisses and the sureness of his movements.  He must be able to read it in each and every line of his muscles, because he welcomes him in, he wraps his arms around him, he holds onto him and never lets go, never lets go, never lets go like he’s afraid the breeze will take him away, like he’s afraid he’s on the brink of losing this, too.  And his light keeps shining, his light like a beacon of desperation for affection and acceptance; it shines like a million lights pulled together within the same being, shines like a thousand hopes pushing to become real.

 And Lance shines, and it’s only for Kolivan to see, because in this moment Lance is truly Kolivan’s alone.

  
  


 The next morning, his communicator doesn’t beep.

 The next morning, he wakes up to find Lance already awake, blue eyes searching his face for answers to an inquiry only he himself can reply, no one else.  Because he understands the feeling, he purrs from deep within his chest, voice grave and heavy with sleep, as he closes his hand around the one resting on his stomach before bringing it to his lips, planting a kiss on each knuckle.

 “Good morning,” Lance whispers then, a shy smile dancing on his bruised mouth.  Kolivan might have bitten his lower lip too hard.

 “How are you feeling?,” he asks, because he’s a fool who keeps falling into deeper depths, and he never lets go of the hand held within his grasp.  To try and save some face, he adds: “Sore anywhere?”

 And Lance laughs, breathy and content, before hiding his blushing face on Kolivan’s shoulder, pressing their still naked bodies even closer than before… and they were already close to begin with, crammed in the small bed as they are.

 “Honestly, my waist is killing me—should’ve listened to you when you asked if I wanted to change positions.”

 “Well,” Kolivan hums, one arm around Lance, sliding his free hand down the human’s spine and enjoying how it makes the other shiver in response, “I  _ did _ tell you that riding me on this bed was probably not a bright idea.  It is much too small. I can barely fit as it is, and that is without you taking up all the space.”

 “Oh wow,” he lifts his head to squint at him, though the huge grin showcases just how much he’s enjoying this, “now  _ I _ am the one taking all the space, not the gigantic furry alien in my bed?”

 “You’re as much of an alien to me as I am to you, actually,” Kolivan smiles, casually letting his hand travel lower, tips of his claws delicately brushing the skin of Lance’s ass, “not too sure about the  _ furry _ aspect, though.  You also have body hair.”

 Lance groans then, shoulders shaking with his barely contained giggles, and he stretches against him before leaving open-mouthed kisses all over Kolivan’s throat.  His interest is peaking, Kolivan can feel it against his thigh and he knows his own body is answering in the same kind of way, too.

 “How much do you think we have before someone comes looking for us?,” Lance asks, leaving aside all pretenses, and he lets out a surprised squeak when Kolivan uses his strength to flip him over and underneath his much larger body, trapping him between his muscles (Lance  _ loves _ them) and the mattress.  His squeak quickly turns into a moan as he all but melts in Kolivan’s hands, “Oh god, I don’t care if my mom comes and knocks the door down, you better get in me  _ right now _ , holy hell, Kolivan, you’re so— _ strong _ .”

 “Everyone’s awake, Lance,” he warns even as his hands travel the length of Lance’s thighs before easily closing around them, lifting those long legs off the bed and bending him in half.  “Do you think you’ll manage to be quiet?”

 “Wasn’t I last night?,” he grins, cocky, and Kolivan has the urge to kiss him until that expression turns into one of pleasure.

 “Not exactly,” he admits, humming as he slides one hand lower and between Lance’s asscheeks, not quite having the patience for playing around, “you were too distracted, but I do recall Veronica walking past the door while complaining about the noise.”

 “ _ Oh my god _ ,” a deep blush takes over that beautiful face and Lance groans, throwing a forearm over his eyes, “she’s never going to let me live it down.”

 

— 

 

 Turns out that time doesn’t matter when you’re with someone you truly feel comfortable with.

 Kolivan spends the days helping Lance in the fields, learning new things, learning new aspects of having a family and being accepted into one.  He’s still reeling over that part, so he tries not to think about it too much, because then so many things he’s kept quiet for so long would easily come tumbling down and demand all of his attention.   _ Not now _ , he tells them, because he’s not a fool in denial, because he knows he cannot postpone them forever.   _ Not now, _ he begs and, for now, they listen.

 He gets new clothes, something different to wear that is not an alteration of his uniform, two days into spending his time with Lance and his entire family.  Lance’s mother doesn’t listen when he tells her he truly doesn’t need them, he doesn’t even have a place to store the items. She looks at him in the eye with the determination of a mother who is tired of watching her children suffer and will do just about anything to retain the reason of their happiness for just a little longer, and then she tells him that  _ nonsense _ , you can keep them in Lance’s closet, he won’t mind.  She also says  _ While we are at it, tell me about you, let me get to know you _ and Kolivan would like to say that no, he did not experience panic, but he’s not about to lie to himself that much.

 Veronica drives him around town, takes him to the nearest Garrison base, lets him see what they are planning in regards to communication with other planets and their leaders.  He offers his knowledge to help fine-tuning details of intricate plans, and she in exchange offers him the support of someone who knows Lance better than anyone, someone he can talk to when Lance becomes too untouchable because at the lightest contact he might shatter.  She often helps him out, too, when the kids keep hanging on his arms (literally) and ask him to play with them every time they see him, all the time. He doesn’t really mind, he simply… feels overwhelmed, sometimes (most times). He’s never been great with kids.

 There’s the time he spends with Lance, too, the time he wouldn’t trade for anything in the universe.  There’s the nights spent outside, stargazing, Lance pressed against his side as he pretends he isn’t crying whenever he looks at the stars and thinks of the love he’s lost and the price that was paid to reach the reality they have now.  Kolivan holds him close and stays quiet, his own eyes raising to the sky in a silent prayer, in a silent  _ thank you _ , but most of all, in a question:  _ is this truly alright? _  Unsurprisingly, the universe never answers.  Lance’s glowing marks make his tears look like pearls that get lost in the night, among the tall grass and flowers.

 

 When it finally happens, he’s been waiting for it for so long that he doesn’t have the energy to feel anything but a dull sense of guilt:

 His communicator is beeping in the nightstand besides the bed, a larger one now, and Lance notices roughly at the same times as he does.  There’s still a few hours till sunrise, but what does that matter when outside of this room time never stops.

 “You have to go,” Lance says, then, and he carefully disentangles his legs from their tight lock around Kolivan’s legs, “that’s ok.”

_ It’s not really.   _

_  It’s not ok, I know you’re lying.  But what else can I do? _

 “Yes,” he says, movements slow as he picks up the device and reads the message.  Another mission. “I’m sorry.”

 “Nah, it’s alright,” falling down onto his pillow, Lance closes his eyes, doesn’t dare to look at him.  His marks aren’t shining, not like they have been during all these days they spent together, and Kolivan feels something inside of him turning into shreds.

 “I will return as soon as I’m done with the assignment,” he promises, still, because it’s the least he can do; it’s the most he can offer.

 Lance still doesn’t open his eyes.  His breathing is carefully even.

 “Sure,” he says and his voice breaks.  “I. I will be here. You know your way here.”

 Kolivan stands and remains quiet.  He dresses quickly, pulls his hair into his usual braid.  All the while, Lance’s eyes are closed, his body is tense in a way it hasn’t been for long.   _ This is not a goodbye _ , Kolivan wants to say but the words are stuck in the back of his throat.   _ I cannot, will not, say goodbye.  I’m coming back. I am coming back  _ **_to you_ ** _. _

 He’s already by the door, communicator in the hidden pocket of his uniform, one hand holding a small bag with just a few of his belongings, when he turns around and looks at Lance, on the bed, bathed by the lazy light of a slow sunrise.  He wants to hold him in his arms and never let go. He wants to never leave this room, to stay together, outside world and duties be damned. He wants so much, yet he allows himself none of it, because it wouldn’t be right.

 So he does what he can do, and says what he can say:

 “You’re right.  I know my way home.”

 

°


End file.
